Photos and Stories from Kittie's Travels

Category Archives: Turkey

Two years ago, a veteran from this trip advised those of us looking ahead to it, “Do something at the beginning and end of the trip together.” Whatever it was, he suggested that the revisiting the act would help us grasp the time and changes elapsed during the three week journey.

Cemeteries bloom from every hilltop along the shoreline where the ANZAC (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) dashed themselves against Turkish forces. “They died before they ever got out of the water,” our guide recounted. Once on land, they continued to die for eight months before the forces withdrew to Egypt.

Three days remain for the Turkey trip. I fought a losing battle to keep my eyes open on the bus today. As rich as this tour has been, I’ll be glad to sleep in the same bed for more than two nights –and even happier to see my family! We rendezvous in London before catching the train to Scotland.

“Hey! Hello!” We slung our hands back at forth, leaning over the ship’s railing. On the dock below, a trio of our friends waved back. I bet the tub’s owner didn’t regret relenting on the ticket price for us. I had threatened to walk away three times before he agreed.

All aboard, we gathered at the prow of the boat, rocking with the waves and admiring the city lights. Hotels and restaurants gleamed neon against the cliffs. After a day spent in Antalya’s Old Town, feasting on the sea’s fruit and exploring bygone bookstores, we had reunited with the harbor for a jaunt on one of many eager vessels. The wrangling Turk who had secured our passage sidled up to one of the girls. Read the rest of this entry →

I met a traveler from an antique land Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped […]

Our guide loosed us on Antalya for a day of unscheduled leisure. I trailed our professors into Old Town, where vendors assailed us from every street corner. One man captured our attention with free samples of his candied nuts. Prof. B shrugged and allowed him to fill a bag for her. “How much?” she inquired.

This week hasn’t been all fun and games, though: I’ve come down with a head cold. It leeches the fun out of clambering through Roman ruins and visiting early Christian churches. The girls have been wonderful, supplying me with all the cold medicine and tissues I thought I wouldn’t need.

We swam in a crew of seven. Four of us called out instructions, warnings, advice. Two of us lagged behind, riding the waves on the strength of our fellows. One bobbed along in good cheer. Together, we bridged the moat and charged the castle.

We staggered over the seashore defenses, pricking our feet on the pebbles. We penetrated the walls unopposed. We scaled the battlements and admired the land that lay beyond, back from whence we came. We gathered together beneath the stars and rested there, in the serenity of a challenge well-met.

We had settled onto a raised dais that once contained the altar of a church. Turks had re-built it as a mosque. Unlike the Hagia Sophia, the queen of Turkey’s re-purposed churches, this structure had no other visitors save our tour group. We had entered a silent hall, we women wrapped in scarves and long skirts, everyone barefoot. Overhead, iron bars pierced the marble Byzantine columns, reinforcing the stone. Across the floor, two men knelt in prayer. At our side, Mehmet concluded his brief introduction to the religion of Islam and invited questions.

Losing four hours of sleep. Disturbing the locals. Exposing myself to long grass full of snakes, ticks, biting ants… Any number of difficulties might have dissuaded me. I even dreamed that the leader of our small expedition had appeared in my room in the earliest hours of the morning to cancel our expedition. Still, when 4:30am arrived, I awoke and forsook my bed.

We hiked west, out of our mountain hotel’s courtyard, down a dirt road, and into the hills. The call to prayer wailed at us, and the moonlight wept on us, but the hilltop beckoned us on. The clocks had not yet struck 5 am.